Dancing in the Dark
by Max Howle
Summary: Sherlock has known John for a good few years now, and he's been avoiding the inevitable for too long. So what is the best way to explain how he feels to his best friend? What else than dinner, perhaps a dance? ((Johnlock.))


Dancing in the Dark

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_So! Be nice, sorry, errors and stuff. I'm not a great writer and though this is not my first fic it is the first one I've finished and liked. So… Be nice? Please? It's short but I didn't want to extend it and ruin the whole thing. ~Max_

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Meet me at Angelo's. -SH

Why? JW

Dinner. -SH

You never want to have dinner. JW

Well I do now. -SH

Is everything all right? JW

Yes. Will you come? –SH

Of course. Where? JW

Angelo's, obviously. –SH

When? JW

10:00 tonight. -SH

Angelo's closes at 9:30. Or have you asked him to keep the doors open? JW

Doors open, so it will be just you and me. -SH

You're sure everything is okay? JW

I'm fine John, why do you keep asking that? You say normal people go to dinner together all the time. -SH

We're not normal people. And I was referring to… couples. Couples go out and eat dinner together at nice places. JW

Well we _are_ a couple. –SH

No, we're not. Not a romantic one. JW

Irrelevant. –SH

Sherlock, I don't think you understand. Don't you find normal things like dinner boring? JW

Not when I'm with you John. Do you not want to go? -SH

No! I'd like to go. Not that I don't appreciate it or want to, but it's surprising from you, that's all. JW

Right, John. I'll see you soon, then. -SH

See you then. JW

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An hour later Sherlock dressed in one of his sharp black suits and sporting a blood red tie. He ran his hand through his hair, not really concerned about it. He wondered if he should text John, then thought against it, he didn't want to come off needy. Sherlock felt his nerves on end but he hid it well. He wasn't sure how John would take such a sudden request.

Sighing and sliding his mobile into his trouser pocket, Sherlock walked down and hailed a cab. He slid into the back seat and told the cabbie the destination. The entire ride Sherlock drumming his hand on his knee impatiently, running plans through his mind.

Ten minutes past, John glanced at his watch and stared out at the restaurant from the front door. Its chairs were up and the lights were dimmed. He wondered what Sherlock had planned that evening, if anything. But, his thoughts were disrupted when he saw Angelo sweep past towards the door. The doctor peered through the glass and raised his eyebrows at the sight of a sharply-dressed Sherlock. Once he was inside, he smiled in greeting. "Not like you to be late." he teased.

"Shut up." Sherlock growled, he sat in the chair near the window, the same one that he had the first time John and him had been to Angelo's. "Come on then. Sit." He suddenly felt slightly nervous, not that he was very confident earlier, either.

John did as instructed and sat himself in his original spot. He looked out the window at the road and smirked very slightly. "Same spot as before, then?" he asked, tilting his head towards his detective. "Bit sentimental, that." He smiled teasingly and thanked Angelo for setting them down menus. He also spotted a candle, and while he eyed it, he said nothing and instead turned his attention to the menu.

Sherlock smiled. _Sentiment, yeah, you could call it that._ He thought. He looked at John, feeling uncomfortable. "John, um." He paused. "Are you, well, still with Sarah?" He wanted to avoid the subject but at the same time get it over with.

Humming in recognition, John didn't respond otherwise until the question was asked. He peeked up from behind his menu and raised a brow. "I'm sorry?" he asked. "Sarah dumped me months ago. You bought me beer when I told you." He continued to scan the menu. "What's this about, then?" He hadn't tried really dating anyone since. Every girlfriend he'd had, the three of them, barely lasted two weeks. He had his reason but doubted they'd come to light.

"Right." Sherlock said, not bothering to look at the menu, he wasn't hungry. "That's... Well... Good, I mean it's_ not_." Sherlock corrected. "So what do you want to eat?" He purposely avoided John's question.

Now, John looked up from his menu and stared at Sherlock. With a growing frown, he set the menu down and sighed. "Something's wrong," he said. "Not like you to beat around the bush." He folded his hands under his chin. "Come on, then," he fished.

Sherlock cleared his throat. He looked over at Angelo pleadingly, but got no response, so he looked back at John. "Can't I have a nice simple dinner with my… friend?" He swallowed the word, still not even use to its title. There was soft music in the background, he tried to concentrate on it, and not flush red in embarrassment.

John blinked down at the table and nodded slowly in silence. He looked over the menu and finally said, "The lasagna," if not a bit resigned. He offered a terse smile then gazed out the window and watched cars pass them by. He thought he and Sherlock had gotten over walls and guards and could talk to one another. Seemed he was wrong.

Sherlock knew John was upset with him for being so held off. He watched Angelo rush in back to get John's dinner made. The second the man exited the room Sherlock stood and turned the music up, moonlight, by Beethoven. He loved that song.

"You know, when you said 'dinner', I was hoping you'd be eating, too," John huffed, casting Sherlock a look.

Sherlock came to John's side, extending a hand, hoping the dim light didn't show how much he was trembling. "Will you dance with me, Doctor Watson?" He gave a tight smile.

John blinked, then rose his eyebrow. "Dance... with you?" he mumbled dumbly. "Why would-" God, he'd never danced before, not to Beethoven, certainly. John pursed his lips, reached his hand out, and placed it in Sherlock's. "Sure," he murmured, entirely unsure why he was accepting when he'd make a fool of himself.

Sherlock relaxed slightly, he carefully wrapped his arm around John's waist, swaying at first. "I'll lead." He said softly, his words brushing against the shorter mans ear. He held John loosely, so if he got uncomfortable he could break away. He stepped slowly, not completely in time with the music, carefully pausing as John stumbled.

The doctor swallowed from nerves and kept glancing down at his feet with every few steps. He stumbled over his own two feet and fell into Sherlock slightly. "Sorry," he mumbled, stepping back and forcing himself to relax. He had no idea where to look but looking at Sherlock for so long would surely be uncomfortable. He smiled thinly and ducked his head. "I'm sure you probably learned somewhere like France or Austria," he said on Sherlock's dancing.

"Actually, mummy forced me to take dancing lessons when I was young, god I hated it. They had to kick me out; no one would be my partner." Sherlock chuckled, "I have been quite good at these things, of course always the things I find pointless, dancing, art, violin…" he smiled. "Keep a rhythm. Focus on one thing, don't watch your feet. Just… just look at me." Sherlock absently pulled John a little closer, hoping he only thought he was supporting John.

Chuckling in amusement, John imagined a child Sherlock being... well Sherlock... in dance lessons. He could picture it all too well. "You're good at more than that," he said immediately. He glanced at the detective and kept his eye. He squeezed his hand very slightly as they danced and fought every urge to blink away from the other man. Many things were pointing to a seeming obvious answer, except that it was _Sherlock_ displaying the signs. He wanted to believe it was all true, but how could he when the man was asexual and aloof from love (and he was so clearly undeserving)? He found he had little to say, but wished he could.

Sherlock started to pick up his speed, swaying more, taking larger steps, using his long legs to his advantage, he leaned on John slightly, and the two had no room between them anymore. "Good at things like what?" He mumbled softly, starting to feel more comfortable than before. He was surrounded by the soft sent of cologne, tea, and John. Sherlock grinned widely at the army doctor.

Captivated by Sherlock's eyes, he hardly noticed the increased speed but did comply with it. "You're a genius," he said, first and foremost. "Bloody good at manipulating people, which is... some skill of acting. You get what you seek. People give you what you want for reasons they can't explain." He held his hand a bit closer now. "You... have control," he murmured, not sure where his voice was going with the words he was saying. "You've got a heart, even if you wish you didn't, even if you try not to show it, and it's wonderful, Sherlock, it's beautiful." Somewhere, he registered what his cheeks were warming.

Sherlock stumbled slightly. He cleared his throat. "No, John. I'm a use to do drugs, I've got a hellish history, and a tendency to make people hate me... And I don't have a heart, Moriarty correctly called that, in fact, _you_ are my heart. And John... For that and putting up with me and _caring..."_ he strangled on his words for a second. "I love you, John."

John eyed Sherlock carefully, opening his mouth to object once or twice before letting Sherlock continue. The doctor gawked very slightly and stopped in his steps. Staring at the detective, he waited for some sort of experiment-mention, a question or joke. Yet he found nothing. Sherlock seemed sincere. He parted his lips and stared at the taller man. "You... wh-..." He inhaled slowly, steadily, and exhaled just as paced. "Sherlock, I..." He pursed his lips. "Why?" he asked, and it was the only thing he knew to ask. Why would Sherlock love him?

Sherlock dropped both hands to his sides. "You're amazing." He never complimented someone before, but John hadn't run away yet, "Hell, what do I have to lose? John, you're brilliant, you're smart, and you care about everyone and everything. You can see the good in everyone, even... Me. You love every person your with and can still continue a conversation with someone you hate. You never seem truly happy but you fake a smile so everyone around doesn't worry, but I worry. And the biggest part, you _care_. It's more than I could ever do. You care and you are the first person who has ever bared being in the same room as me. You accept me John, and that, and a million reasons, is why I love you." Sherlock spoke slowly, as if every word would make John turn and run out of Angelo's calling back that he had been faking it, that he hated him, and that he was a freak.

The doctor swallowed the knot in his throat as he listened well. A little smile, hesitant, even scared, came to his face. "Sherlock," he uttered. "I..." Inhaling slowly, John stepped back closer to him and nodded slowly, understandingly. "Okay," he said quietly. He licked his lips, looked into his eyes, and said again with more confidence, "Okay. Yeah. Good, that's..." His smile grew a little more. "You're probably expecting me to run off or something. Sorry, but you're stuck with me. Even with this." He gazed down at the floor and his now somewhat hidden expression became warmer, if at all possible. "Especially with this."

Sherlock let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "So you're not going to go run off and hate me?" He sounded like a teenage girl, but he had never_ loved_ someone before, it was all new to him, being so open and exposed, it was terrifying.

John chuckled, "No, of course not." He smiled up at Sherlock. "Not in a million years… I- I love you, too."

Sherlock felt his face grow warm, and John smiled, a truly happy smile, one he never saw before. He took John in his arms, dancing again, but the music had stopped and the candles all but burned out. They began dancing in the silence, dancing in the dark.

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~Fin~


End file.
